


Breakout

by mrs_d



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), T'Chucky if you squint, Team Cap to the Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 04:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6785644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Steve — if Steve — came to get him, Sam would need to be sharp. So he kept moving. He couldn’t sit still, not when Steve would be — might be — busting through the doors any second.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakout

**Author's Note:**

> Just my version of events. Unbeta'd and written soon after seeing Civil War only once, so forgive any screw-ups.

On the Raft, there was no sense of time. There were no clocks, and the guards had taken his watch. No windows, so there was no day, no night. The lights came on, the lights went out. The guards sauntered by, seemingly at random.

So Sam was counting meals to keep track of his prison sentence.

The food came through a slot in the cell door that appeared, opened, and disappeared, once when the lights first came on, once when the guards had wandered by three or four times, and once before the lights went out.

When the lights went out after three meals, sleep came whether Sam wanted it or not. When he woke up, he wondered if there was something in the food, something to keep him calm, put him to sleep. He thought about not eating it, but he knew that when Steve — if Steve — came to get him, he would need to be sharp. So he kept moving. He did sit-ups, push-ups, jumping jacks. He couldn’t sit still, not when Steve would be — might be — busting through the doors any second.

After five meals, he was feeling the fight, the knots of pain that arced when he moved, so he had to slow down, had to settle for pacing around his cell. It was twelve steps from wall to wall, if Sam walked between the bed and the bars. Ten if he didn’t. Fourteen steps from the bars to the back. Six steps from the bed to the toilet. One from the toilet to the sink.

“I’d really hoped I could go the rest of my life without shitting in front of people again,” Scott complained.

“Don’t worry, we’ll look away,” Clint told him.

Between the sixth meal and lights out, Tony came, and Sam told him what he needed to know.

“Forgive me, baby,” he whispered as Tony walked away.

“You did the right thing, Sam,” Clint murmured, one meal after Tony left.

“Thanks,” Sam replied.

“I just hope he plays nice,” Scott added.

“You and me both,” Sam muttered, and he went back to pacing.

Wanda never said a word. Sam had seen the guards put some kind of collar on her, something that suppressed her powers and apparently drained her energy; Sam never heard her moving either, except for some quiet shuffles at mealtimes.

“You know, when you said to come and join the team, Sam, this wasn’t where I thought I’d end up,” Scott said, six meals after Tony left, twelve meals after they’d arrived.

Sam’s steps faltered. Scott sounded bitter, resigned, and Sam thought about how Steve would handle the situation. Maybe he’d say something inspiring, something about fighting the good fight, about the cost of freedom, about doing the right thing no matter the consequences. Or maybe he’d be sarcastic, tell Bug-Man to can it.

But Sam might never know, might never get to ask what Steve would do, so he stayed silent, started pacing again.

“Yeah, well, as I recall, it was your idea to go giant,” Clint said finally. “If you didn't want to get caught, you should have gone small.”

“True,” Scott agreed. After a moment, he added anxiously, “Wait, are you saying I should apologize? Is that what you guys do when one of you—”

“Quiet,” said Wanda suddenly. “I think someone’s coming.”

Sam stopped, listening intently, but he didn’t hear anything.

“Let’s hope it’s a cricket, so Scott has someone else to talk to,” Clint joked after a few seconds of tense silence.

“Hey, man, that’s not cool,” Scott replied, actually sounding a little wounded.

“Shut _up_ ,” Wanda hissed. “Don’t you hear that?”

Sam listened again, and this time he did hear something. Boots, shuffling. Steady movement towards the cell block. Guards, probably, maybe with the warden. They’d been pissed when Tony left, throwing glares and insults at Sam through the bars. Maybe Tony hadn’t been able to catch up to Steve, and Ross wanted answers.

Or maybe Tony had brought Steve down, and the guards were coming to gloat.

Sam tensed and turned away from the bars. He didn’t want to know, didn’t want to read the glee or grim determination on anyone’s face. If Steve was dead, if he really wasn’t coming, Sam needed a minute alone with the blank wall to get it together.

The footsteps drew nearer. Whoever it was, Sam was the target. Sam braced himself, looked over his shoulder—

—and his jaw dropped when Steve stepped out of the shadows, his mouth turned up in a little smile that was heartbreakingly familiar.

“Sam,” he said simply.

That one little syllable was enough to bring Sam to the bars, as close as he could get to Steve. He wanted to say something, to ask where the hell he’d come from, how he’d got here, what had happened in Siberia, but he couldn’t find the words.

Steve raised one hand and held it in front of the lock. There was a small flash of light and a click, and suddenly the door was swinging open. Sam stepped forward and threw his arms around Steve, squeezing him tightly.

“Ow,” Steve mumbled. “Still a little tender, pal.”

“Sorry,” Sam said quickly, stepping back.

He looked Steve up and down, taking in the civilian clothes, the lack of his shield, and the bruises on his face that were almost healed. He swallowed hard, wanting desperately to take another step forward and kiss Steve, but he wasn’t sure if this was the time or place for that. Sam took some comfort, at least, in the fact that Steve looked like he was dealing with the same struggle.

His tongue darted out to moisten his lips, and he said, “I think you look better in red, Sam.”

Sam smiled. “Yeah, blue’s more your thing,” he agreed, relieved to slip back into the banter that still came so easy between them. “Now did you come here just to give me fashion advice, or is this a breakout?”

Steve grinned and handed Sam the small black object that had opened his cell door. “I’ll get Wanda, you get the others,” he said, pulling another device from his pocket.

Sam nodded, opening Clint’s door, then Scott’s. Scott rolled his shoulders when he stepped out of his cell. “Remind me never to get arrested again,” he said.

“Can’t argue that,” Clint agreed.

The three of them went to Wanda’s cell and found her sitting on the edge of her bed, her vacant eyes on Steve, who was standing before her with his hand extended.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Wanda shook her head. “Maybe I belong here.”

Steve sighed and crouched on the floor in front of her. “Wanda,” he began, but Scott interrupted.

“Trust me, kid, I’ve known people who belong in prison, and you’re not one of them.”

“Listen to Bug-Man,” Clint added.

“Ant-Man,” Scott corrected snippily. “And, hey, if you want to be restrained, Wanda, I’ve got some handcuffs at home.”

“Dude,” Sam groaned as Wanda’s eyebrows shot up, and Steve hung his head.

“What, I stole them from Paxton. Why are you looking at me like—” Scott’s eyes went huge. “Oh. Oh, that came out way more sexual than I meant it to. I have offended you, and I am sorry. I’m just going to, uh…” He gestured vaguely and started wandering away.

“Good job, Bug-Man,” said Clint, following him and slapping his shoulders. “Good to know your giant foot stills fits in your mouth.”

“What we can take away from this,” Steve said to Wanda, clearly trying to get them back on track, “is that we all make mistakes. And I’m not going to stop you if you want to stay, but—”

“I will,” Clint called.

“But we don’t have much time,” Steve finished, getting to his feet again.

Wanda looked up at him a moment then nodded. She stood, but swayed on her feet. Steve caught her and lifted her arm around his shoulders. They started staggering towards the exit, Sam, Clint, and Scott following close behind, when an alarm went off, startling them all.

“Shit,” Steve muttered, scooping Wanda up into his arms. “This way,” he added, turning down a corridor that Sam remembered led to the helipad.

“Captain America _swears_?” whispered Scott, as they dodged the discarded weapons and unconscious guards that were littering the tarmac.

“Yeah, we’re coming, start her up,” Steve snapped suddenly, and Sam didn’t need to ask who he was communicating with through his earpiece. “Sharon, see what you can do about that alarm.”

The cargo doors on a small, sleek jet opened as they approached, and they scrambled up the ramp as the alarm cut out mid-chime. Sam helped Wanda take a seat as Clint and Scott found theirs. He nodded to Sharon, who was busy with some kind of complicated electronic device on her lap.

“You’d think that somewhere along the line you’d have learned a little patience,” Steve called as the door closed behind them.

“Did you?” Bucky shouted back.

“Not the point. Sharon, the hatch?”

“Yep,” she said, entering a sequence into the keypad of the device she was holding. “Good for takeoff, Barnes.”

“Roger that. Rogers, get up here, I need you on my left.”

Steve sent Sam a little smile as he headed for the cockpit. Sam returned it, then turned to Scott, who was starting to fiddle with Wanda’s power dampener as the jet lifted, smooth and practically silent, into the air.

They all looked up sharply when Clint gasped. “Jesus, what happened to your arm?”

Bucky turned slightly in the co-pilot’s seat, and Sam saw the tangle of twisted and blackened metal that ended just below his shoulder.

“What do you think happened?” he asked dryly.

“Stark,” Wanda breathed.

A hint of red was shimmering behind her eyes. Scott leaned back and Sharon’s hand hovered over her weapon. For a moment, no one spoke, no one moved. Sam held his breath.

“Wanda,” Steve said from the cockpit, with just enough authority to make it an order.

At once, Wanda’s shoulders slumped. Sharon relaxed, Sam breathed, and Scott went back to working on the collar.

“Where are we going?” Sam finally thought to ask.

“Wakanda,” Sharon replied promptly.

“What?” asked Clint, at the same time Scott yelped, “Are you nuts?”

Sam, however, nodded. The stealth jet, the technology that made the Raft’s security systems look like a rusty chain link fence — there was nowhere else they could be going.

“We can’t just fly to Wakanda,” Clint said. “It’s a closed country, they’ll never let us in.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bucky demurred. His voice was all Brooklyn now, none of the flat tone that he’d used a minute ago. “I know a guy.”

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't the story I intended to write. I might expand on this and turn it into the story I intended to write (*cough* SteveSam porn *cough*), or maybe I'll just do something new. In any case, I look forward to writing more post-CW SteveSam! As ever, you can check me out on [Tumblr](http://mrsdawnaway.tumblr.com/) if you're so inclined :)


End file.
